


A Concerned Friend

by inquisitorsmabari



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Letters, Pre-Relationship, Secret Admirer, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 07:21:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19080220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitorsmabari/pseuds/inquisitorsmabari
Summary: The Herald of Andraste watches Cullen Rutherford training their troops on most days, but has never found the courage to approach him. But when she overhears a conversation about his struggle with insomnia, she seeks to help in whatever way she can.





	A Concerned Friend

**Author's Note:**

> A not-actually-that-old tumblr prompt from 2018. I used a non-descript female Herald for this one so feel free to imagine who you like.

Haven was a place filled with constants. It was constantly cold, constantly busy, and it was constantly filled with noise; noise from the Chantry sisters who sang their prayers from every corner, noise from the hustling and bustling of soldiers and followers and worshippers as they ferried to and fro, and noise from the patrons of the inn who shouted and cheered until long after the sun had set and Haven was covered in a heavy, black shroud. But on top of all that, as much a constant as the cold and the bustling of people and all the other noises they could bring, there was the noise of the Commander, his orders thundering through the valley as swords clashed against armour and soldiers fell into the snow at their feet.

He was always in the same place, battling the onslaught of an icy cold wind as he stood in the camp by the frozen lake; proud, strong, constant.

Her eyes almost always found him as he stood there, and she couldn’t help but stop in her tracks every time they did, frozen not by the bitter assault of the icy cold wind, but by his presence, his demeanour, his watchful eye. Sometimes, he even smiled at her as he caught her eye from across the swarm of sparring soldiers with a flash of honey coloured gold. But when that happened, the spell was gone, she had been discovered, and she would turn and leave as she fought to hide her shame.

But there was something she noticed every time her eyes fell upon him. There were days when his gait was off, when he leaned too heavily on one leg and not the other, when his pacing was slow and his demeanour sharp. And on those days, his eyes rarely found hers. She could stay for longer, listen in, even. And that’s when she heard it, as clear as day.

“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he had admitted with a sigh as he raised his hand to claw at the back of his neck.

“Well we did offer you a proper bed,” Cassandra reminded him. “It would be much more comfortable–”

“No,” his tone was sharp, frustrated, bitter, but it soon softened as his shoulders fell while his words fell slowly in to another sigh. “I prefer the tent. It’s cold, but, I’ll manage.”

She bit her lip as she heard their exchange, folding her arms against the cold wind as she pictured him trying so hard to sleep as he fought against the night air which was much, much colder than this. That was another thing that was constantly present in the village of Haven: cold nights, bitter, cold nights. They crept in as the sun disappeared from the sky and, with it, the warmth it bestowed upon the bustling town, which was replaced only by an ominous darkness through which the sickly green light from the Breach shone through the small clouds left by their breaths.

How could he hope to sleep through that, with only a tent to shield him?

She would not have her commander endure another night of cold. _Their_ commander...

She marched away from the soldier’s camp and trudged through the snow towards the gates to Haven, and towards the small, wooden cabin that was now her home. And, within it, she found what she had been looking for.

—–

The day was over, the sun was setting, and Haven was quickly turning from a gentle white, to a blazing orange, to an eerie darkness marred by the ever present, otherworldly green of the Breach. He never looked at it, he never wanted to. Not even as he turned away from the sparring grounds and retired to his tent. He kept his head down as he ducked beneath the tent flaps and escaped from the icy cold wind. It had assailed him today with a vigour unmatched by any of the troops in his care since he had first stepped out from beneath the canvas this morning, and he had had enough of it.

He sought nothing but warmth, heat, shelter from the cold winds. But, in truth, the canvas of his tent did nothing to shield him from the cold. 

He could have taken up Cassandra’s offer, given in to common sense and taken the nice warm bed beneath a real, timber framed, roof. But, no, if his troops had to sleep out in the cold, then he would too. And, besides, he was far too stubborn to admit that it was too much for him to handle. No, he had no choice, he had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. Quite literally.

And so he sighed, and trudged towards the tiny cot that served as a bed.

Except, as he approached his bed, he noticed something. On top of the covers, there was what appeared to be a bundle. Although as he began to draw closer to it, he concluded that no, it wasn’t a bundle. It was a neatly folded woollen blanket, on top of which there was a letter, folded just as neatly, with words that didn’t so much as flow elegantly along the page, but which seemed to shakily draw out across the parchment, continuing on and one until, finally, they reached the end of the page in an almost abrupt stop.

He read the first line, just to make sure. But no mistake had been made, it was addressed to him.

_Commander,_

_I think it is very brave of you to insist on sleeping out here in the cold while many of us have the luxury of at least a proper roof above our heads. But being brave doesn’t mean you have to be freezing cold. I thought maybe this could help? I was using it to cover me while I slept, but then your need is much greater than mine. Besides, I don’t mind the cold anyway._

_I hope you don’t find this too strange. I would have given it to you in person but, sometimes, words fail me. It’s much easier to write down my thoughts, and, besides, you now won’t be able to witness how many times I messed up and had to throw my parchment into the fire (it was a lot)._

_But regardless, I hope it serves you well. After all, a Commander cannot command if all he is thinking about is a good night’s sleep._

_Love from,_

_A Concerned Friend_

_P.S. If you don’t want it, drop it by the entrance to your tent and I will pick it up before sunrise, so that I can hide my shame in the murky light of the dawn._

He folded the note and placed it on the small wooden table beside his bed, reaching out with tentative fingers to clutch at the woollen blanket that had been left by his ‘concerned friend’. It was soft, softer than he could have imagined and, as his fingers wormed their way into the folds of the fabric, he could feel the warmth seeping through his gloves. Instinctively, he brought it to his face, seeking to warm his red, weather bitten cheeks and hide his pink nose into the soft fabric. 

And then the smell hit him, it was a smell that warmed him, comforted him, reminded of a time before he was tied to regimental rations that always smelled of the bizarre soap the Chantry workers slathered all over their fabrics. It was what he used to smell at home, when he had a home, the smell of a night spent by the open fire beneath thick furs and the smell of warm bed he would be tucked in to once sleep had begun to take over it. 

He couldn’t help but smile, despite the cold, the constant cold, despite the soreness of his muscles and the cold that bit at his toes. 

And he knew he would sleep well that night.


End file.
